


Familiar

by vands38



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Romantic Comedy, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Yennefer mention, geralt needs therapy, renfri mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vands38/pseuds/vands38
Summary: Geralt has amnesia and incorrectly assumes that he and Jaskier are lovers. Jaskier is both a) very pleased and b) very distressed by this news.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 89
Kudos: 609
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2021





	Familiar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayatheyellowbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayatheyellowbee/gifts).



> cw: deception, spiders, and slight dubcon (nothing sexual happens until geralt has his memory back)

It takes Jaskier a good few miles to work out that Geralt has amnesia.

Sure, Geralt had greeted him in Novigrad with no more than a slow blink of eyes and a curious tilting of the head but Geralt _always_ looked a little confused by the idea that someone would actually want to spend time with him, so Jaskier doesn’t think anything of it as they leave the city and Geralt frowns in pensive silence while Jaskier divulges the gossip at court that winter.

He doesn’t consider Geralt’s pensive silence to be anything other than pensive silence until they reach a crossroads and the Witcher halts Roach to say, “I’m going to Velen.”

Jaskier blinks and notices that, yes, several miles and several hours must have passed if they are already at the crossroads. Huh. He must have prattled on all this time. “Ah, yes, _Velen_. Because we couldn’t possibly go a week without visiting a bog, could we? No, no, we have to ruin Jaskier’s beautiful new boots just as soon as we possibly can. Straight into the muddy bogs of Velen. Lovely.”

Geralt’s brow furrows, and he looks down at Jaskier with that confused expression again. “You are… coming with me?”

“Well, yes,” Jaskier says, affronted. “Unless you’d like to make up an excuse about bog witches having a taste for bards again,” he says, with a cautionary finger pointed at the offender, “but I’ll have you know that that wasn’t funny the first time and certainly wouldn’t be funny the second time round so don’t even _think_ about trying. One day, good sir, I will succeed in writing a riveting tale about drowners but until then… well, I’m afraid I must insist on muddying my trousers alongside you. After all,” he says, sighing dramatically and faux-fainting against the bulk of Roach’s flank, “A true _artiste_ must suffer for their work and I am nothing if not wholly dedicated to my craft!”

Geralt hums and looks all contemplative up on his (very literal) high horse. Jaskier sighs and puts his hands on his hips – affronted, once more, as he always seems to be in Geralt’s presence.

“Are you even _listening_ to me, Geralt?”

“You’re a bard,” Geralt states, squinting down at him.

“Yes?” Jaskier responds, utterly confused. “I’m sorry, have you _met_ me before? You’re doing a very good job of acting like you haven’t with all this –” he waves his hands at Geralt’s whole _thing_. “Which is a very mean thing to do considering that I waited around in Novigrad for an entire _fortnight_ after you said you’d show and I’ve yet to even hear an apology from you. Not that I expected one, mind. But you could’ve at least bought me that pastry when I made very obvious hints about it. That would have done. An apology danish. Would that have been so hard?” he whines, remembering the sweet scent of apple and cinnamon. “Oh, now I’m going to dream about it all the way to Crow’s Perch. And it’s _your_ fault, you know. You’ll have to buy me _two_ the next time we pass a stall just to make up for it.”

Geralt grunts and looks towards the grim and boggy horizon. “I lost my memory,” he states. Plainly. As if that’s a normal fucking thing to say.

Jaskier opens his mouth. And then shuts it. And then must do a very good impression of a fish out of water. “What,” he eventually manages to vocalise, trying not to remember the very enthusiastic hug he bestowed the Witcher upon their reunion… That does explain Geralt’s tense reaction though, and the drawn knife pressed against his belly. “Uh. How? No, wait, I – you lost _all_ of it? No memory at all? That is… heartbreaking. For you, I mean – not remembering my music and my brilliance and my, uh, rugged charm?”

Geralt snorts.

“Hey!” Jaskier retorts petulantly, “I have rugged charm!”

Geralt smirks sardonically, so at least his _attitude problem_ hasn’t changed.

“Anyway. Wow. That is…” and then Jaskier inhales sharply through his teeth when he realises that Geralt has just let him prattle on, divulging all sorts of secrets to someone who doesn’t even _remember_ him. “You didn’t think to mention your lack of memory earlier?!”

“You didn’t shut up long enough,” Geralt grouches, finally tugging on Roach’s reins to continue their trek into the wilderness. “And, yes. All of it. Or, most of it. Things are familiar, sometimes.”

“Right. Which explains why you didn’t stab me. You must have recognised my cologne, or my doublet or something.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says, which sounds awfully noncommittal, like he might have stabbed Jaskier had he just been a little quicker about it. Geralt’s eyes flicker once more down to Jaskier, analytical and calculating. “Jaskier…” he murmurs, like he’s testing the name on his tongue, and _fuck_ , Jaskier wishes it didn’t sound so good. Normally he’s “bard” or “idiot” or – when Geralt is particularly incensed – “Julian” but even when he says “Jaskier” it’s not normally so soft, so wondrous, so curious. In fact, “Jaskier” is normally followed by several gruff curses and something being thrown at his head. The way that Geralt says the name now, however, causes Jaskier to flush hot under his collar.

“Jaskier! Yes, that’s my name!” Jaskier says, forcefully chipper as he tries to ignore the flush that Geralt has likely already observed and analysed.

“And, you are my… companion?”

Jaskier blinks and takes a stuttered breath. There are no words for what they are. Geralt refuses to call them friends, and Jaskier refuses to call them anything less. A travel companion, though, is likely as good of a definition as they’re likely to get.

Jaskier shrugs and agrees, “Yes, we are companions. You slay beasts and I immortalise your heroic deeds in song. You growl at the alderman and I charm him into tossing you another coin. You come back covered in guts and I wash your hair so our bed doesn’t smell like garbage. It’s a very beneficial arrangement, even if you don’t see it at times.”

Geralt grunts again, and that seems to be the end of the conversation until he says – “I’m sorry.”

“For underappreciating me? Well, I can’t say it’s not about time, seeing as you already owe me an apology danish –”

“For forgetting you.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, startled by Geralt’s uncharacteristic sincerity. Jaskier nearly stumbles over his feet in his determination to return that soft, beautiful gaze. “Uh. No need to apologise. We’ll just… start anew, yeah? Probably for the best anyway. You can forget all those silly things I said when I was young. And that time you saw me fall from a maiden’s balcony into a den of brambles… I’m very glad you’ve forgotten that one actually. We were pulling thorns out of my buttocks for weeks.”

Geralt’s mouth twitches up into a smile, soft in a way that it wasn’t before, and says, “Hmm. Brambles… sounds familiar. Maybe it’s coming back to me.”

“Oh ha ha,” Jaskier says sardonically, before Geralt smiles at him like _that_ again, and he nearly _does_ fall head-first into a thicket of thorns.

*

By some miracle, they stumble across an abandoned village at sundown where they can finally shelter from the continual drizzle of Velen. They find a mostly intact cottage that’s splintering and cold and full of spiders and normally Jaskier would complain about every single one of these faults if he wasn’t just so damn happy to have a roof over his head.

Jaskier’s hopping around the place, attempting to wrestle out of his damp clothing to lay over the fireplace, when there is a firm hand around his waist and Jaskier startles still – “Uh.”

Geralt tilts his head down until Jaskier sees the jagged edges of a broken floorboard inches away from his bare foot.

“Oh _bollocks_ ,” he says, hobbling back with the assistance of Geralt until his delicate feet are far away from such atrocious carpentry.

Geralt eyes him warily as Jaskier continues to undress. “I don’t understand how you bear so few scars given your blatant penchant for injury.”

“Because I have you, dear Witcher! To protect me from such devilish snares!”

Geralt grunts and returns to the pot over the fire, poking at the stew inside. Jaskier has noticed throughout the day that Geralt does seem to remember long-term life skills such as riding and cooking and fighting – his blade was just as deadly when they encountered a nest of drowners as it has always been – and he seems to have a fairly good grasp on geography but he cannot remember anyone connected to him, not even childhood memories of Vesemir or the other Witchers.

“Maybe someone cursed you,” Jaskier suggests later, warming his feet by the fire now he has Geralt’s thick blankets between his delicate bottom and the splintered floor. “You know, they made you forget about all the people in your life until you noticed _them_ or something. Sounds like something Yennefer would do. Did you do anything to piss off a beautiful yet terrifying sorceress lately? Although, _shit_ , I don’t suppose you wouldn’t remember if you _had_ , would you?”

Geralt shakes his head, and continues slurping at his stew. “Is that something I’m likely to do?”

Jaskier tilts his head back and laughs uproariously until Geralt’s glare becomes potent enough to silence him. “My friend, you may protect me from splinters and ghouls –”

“And brambles –”

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier allows, “but _I_ protect you from awkward social situations, including, but not limited to, negotiating with scary witch friends. If you _have_ done something to piss Yennefer off then I certainly wasn’t present for it.”

Geralt grunts and throws the bones into the fire, before craning his neck to look at the sad straw mattress in the corner of the cottage.

“Oh, go ahead,” Jaskier offers. “I’m fairly certain it’s infested with something. I’ll take my chances with the floor, thanks.”

“Among the spiders?”

Jaskier clamps his mouth shut upon remembering just how large that spider was in the log pile, and how he’s now wandering around without a home…

“Put the blanket down on the mattress,” Geralt says, indicating the fabric currently wedged under Jaskier’s bottom, “then whatever’s in there will have to eat through that before it gets to you.”

“Oh, that’s so reassuring, thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier drawls, but either Geralt doesn’t notice the sarcasm or he doesn’t care for it as he begins tugging the blanket out from Jaskier’s arse and arranging it onto the mangy mattress.

Geralt goes to check on Roach in the hut next door and by the time he comes back, Jaskier has already inspected the bed and taken the side that seemed the least suspicious. He expects Geralt to slide in next to him, to turn around so their backs meet in the middle, and drift off into a light slumber. This would be the normal thing to do, after all, but Jaskier forgot that this isn’t Old Grumpy Geralt, this is New Soft Geralt, and New Soft Geralt slips in beside him, presses his front against Jaskier’s back, and _spoons_ him.

Jaskier can’t breathe. His heart is pounding. He is being _spooned_ by a Witcher. There is even a cautious but firm hand wrapped around his middle. The entire Continent has just shifted indelibly.

“Is this… okay?” Geralt asks, soft enough that Jaskier’s heart breaks with it. “You said we shared a bed. I don’t know if…”

Jaskier makes a strangled noise that he hopes comes across as an affirmative but fuck knows because his mind is too busy replaying their conversation this afternoon and coming to the devastating realisation that Geralt thinks they are _companions_ – not as in travelling companions, as Jaskier had assumed, but as in “old Ginny down the road has lived with that woman for forty years” kind of companions – and Jaskier, the weak-willed, lovesick, bastard of a man he is, doesn’t have the strength to correct this false assumption.

Jaskier probably shouldn’t be taking advantage of Geralt’s amnesia like this. That’s probably a shitty thing to do. He should probably just clear up this misunderstanding and go and sleep among the spiders. But. Geralt _must_ have made the assumption that they were lovers for a reason, right? Like, it’s not a conclusion that _Jaskier_ would have naturally jumped to given the limited information at hand. And yeah, okay, Old Grumpy Geralt _had_ been quick to reject Jaskier’s advances the one and only time that he had tried to seduce him but this is _Geralt_ we’re talking about, and Mr I-Can’t-Have-Nice-Things might have rejected him just because, well, _he can’t have nice things_. It’s perfectly reasonable to suppose that Geralt has wanted this kind of intimate companionship all along but was unable to accept it while he was burdened with whatever memory he was burdened with.

Regardless, it would be cruel to take something away from new Geralt just because it’s not something that the old Geralt used to do, and if New Soft Geralt believes their relationship to be of that nature – if he _desires_ a relationship of that nature – then Jaskier certainly doesn’t want to dissuade him from taking that path.

Jaskier places his hand over Geralt’s, locking him close to his chest, as if this is something that they do every night and not the most revolutionary act ever to happen in Jaskier’s thirty-something years. “I just, uh, didn’t know if you wanted…” Jaskier says, wanting to give Geralt a way out if he’s doing this out of obligation or something. “You’re not _you_. I mean, you are you. But you’re not… we’re starting new, remember? So, no expectations. You do whatever you want to do.”

But Geralt doesn’t appear to be listening. His nose is buried in the back of Jaskier’s neck, breathing in deeply and making a peaceful humming sound at the back of his throat. His arm tightens around Jaskier and then he mumbles so close that Jaskier can _feel_ the heat of his breath and the way it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, “You smell familiar.”

Jaskier lets out another undignified squeak and urges his pounding heart to calm because he surely doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s just –

“I don’t remember anything,” Geralt says. “I remember Roach. The Path. And…,” he takes another deep breath and this one is followed by a sound of such utter contentment that Jaskier can say he’s honestly never heard it from his Witcher before. “I remember your smell.”

Jaskier huffs a laugh, because any time emotions get too real, his instinct is to crack a joke. “A good thing, I hope? Not smelling of piss and dysentery?”

His attempt at light-heartedness doesn’t work. Geralt seems to have relaxed into the embrace, smelling and nuzzling and otherwise turning Jaskier into a distraught and melting wreck of a human being.

“No,” Geralt murmurs, his lips brushing delicate skin at the movement. “Warm. Homely. Like freshly baked bread.”

Jaskier’s breath catches because he can’t tease Geralt for that – old Geralt, maybe, but not this sweet and unburdened version of his Witcher, who climbs into bed and snuggles him just because it feels _familiar_.

Geralt falls asleep not long after but Jaskier is not so lucky, lying awake in the dark for hours, telling himself that he cannot feel Geralt’s cock pressing against his arse. Nope. Just like there’s no spiders in this house. Or no feelings that may or may not be rising to the surface at the sensation of Geralt’s arms wrapped tight around him. Nope. Nothing to see here. Move along. _Except…_

Geralt _wants_ this. And it’s too big of a notion to just put to bed.

*

Things are back to normal in the morning. Meaning that Jaskier spots a spider on the wall and scrambles out of bed with a scream while Geralt wastes a perfectly sharp knife on killing the poor fellow.

Afterwards they pack away their camp and munch on rations while they ready Roach and it’s all very, very, normal, except for Geralt’s continual calm and soft fucking smile and the way that he reaches over to gently caress Jaskier’s chin with the pad of his thumb to remove a stray cracker crumb with eyes that seem too soft for daylight... Other than _that_ , it’s all really fucking normal.

They arrive at Crow’s Perch at midday, and Jaskier decides to browse the market stalls while Geralt examines the noticeboard. Jaskier is so busy arguing with a trader about the ingredients of his supposed “medicines” that he doesn’t notice Geralt reappear at his side until there is a straw basket being pushed unceremoniously into his hands.

Jaskier ends his diatribe rather unexpectedly, and Geralt steers him away from the stall before he can resume his rant. Instead, Jaskier casts his eyes down to the open basket, which, upon inspection, looks more like a tray that some sellers use for display. And then – oh, _then_ , he sees what’s inside –

“Apology danish,” Geralt grunts, indicating the pastry nestled inside the basket, smelling delightfully of warm spices and fruit.

Jaskier swallows the affection that rises in his chest because he had been joking (mostly) but Geralt had _remembered_ and it’s the sweetest fucking thing. Embarrassingly, he sniffles, as he cracks another joke, “You owed me _two_ , you cheapskate.”

There’s a smirk on Geralt’s face, familiar – yet not quite as wry as it used to be – before he reaches behind his back and reveals a matching pastry.

Jaskier sighs, lovesick and uncaring, as Geralt stacks the second offering before him.

“I, uh…” Jaskier swallows again, because his first attempt didn’t do nearly enough to tamper the overwhelming affection he feels for this man. “That’s… that’s very sweet. Thank you. Though, you didn’t have to. I was joking, you know. Well, mostly. Pastry or no pastry, I would have stayed by your side regardless. Just. For the record.”

A small smile appears before him and then quick hands swipe the top pastry from the stack. “You didn’t say you would be eating _both_ of them.”

“It was _implied_!” Jaskier wails as one danish disappears before his very eyes. “You can’t just give a man an apology danish and then _eat_ the apology. That’s not how that works!”

Geralt smirks and tilts his head down towards Jaskier’s hands where the other pastry resides. “ _That’s_ your apology danish. You didn’t state what the other was for. I assumed to keep your lover fed and satisfied. But if I’m mistaken…”

Jaskier feels himself flush. Because he’s annoyed. Obviously. Not because Geralt just referred to himself as… as… oh, _bollocks_.

Jaskier scowls and shoves the pastry in his mouth and pretends that he’s not one hundred percent, entirely, enjoying this.

*

It’s a fortnight later when they discuss the amnesia thing again. They’re camping in the wilderness – thankfully on the way _out_ of the bog and towards somewhere that hopefully understands the concept of hot water and bath salts – when Geralt takes his usual position against Jaskier’s back and murmurs an apology.

Jaskier frowns and rolls in his arms until he’s facing his idiotic Witcher. “What on earth are you apologising for, you loon? If it’s for keeping your swords so close to the bed then I forgive you, but only because you caught that spider that one time.”

Geralt huffs a laugh, smiling in a way that is beginning to become familiar to Jaskier. “I am sorry that we have not done more than... _this_.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, soft and kind. As much as Geralt has taken to snuggling and smiling and soft little touches when he thinks no one is watching, they haven’t engaged in any sort of hanky panky. There hasn’t even been any kissing or hand holding, unless one counts excited forehead kissing before sprinting to the stage, or the tender bandaging of hands when Geralt comes back from a hunt. They’ve been intimate, but they haven’t been _intimate_ , and Jaskier was so busy counting his blessings for the rest of it that he forgot that “companions” usually do more than just spoon.

Geralt’s eyes are averted, his hands tangling in the sheets between them, as if he’s _nervous_ , which is ridiculous because the only person here is Jaskier and his too-big heart.

“I don’t know what we used to do,” Geralt says. “I don’t want to initiate something… unwelcome.”

“Well, that’s easy,” Jaskier says with a laugh, “because I’m _welcome_ to anything.”

“ _Jaskier_.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and punches him light-heartedly on the shoulder because Geralt is being far too serious about something that shouldn’t even be a problem. Perhaps Geralt is remembering how to be a sourpuss again, which would be very unfortunate.

“Okay,” Jaskier says, “I get it. It’s _weird_. But we’re starting afresh, remember? And I really am welcome to anything. Have been since I met you – even if you don’t remember my embarrassing drunken declaration when I was nineteen. So if you just wanna lie here, that’s okay. If you want to banish me to the other side of the campsite, that’s okay. If you want to kiss me –”

But Jaskier doesn’t get to finish his sentence because there are urgent and desperate lips suddenly pressed against his. Jaskier moans at the sensation and grips Geralt’s head just as tightly as the Witcher does in return, desperate for an anchor as he opens his lips and accepts all that Geralt has to offer.

It’s a good kiss. A _great_ kiss. The kind that makes you think that maybe the romance novels weren’t exaggerating after all. His lips are tingly and his toes are tingly and maybe all of him is tingly? It’s really hard to know, and then Geralt is gasping his name against his lips but it sounds different somehow, infused with meaning, or –

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasps, resting their foreheads together. There’s a tension in his shoulders and a focus to his eyes and Jaskier gasps with realisation just as Geralt murmurs, “ _I remember you_ ,” so fucking reverently before diving back in for an even more devastating kiss.

Geralt _remembers_ him, but he’s still kissing him, and Jaskier’s head is spinning even as he kisses Geralt back for all he’s worth. There is _definitely_ a cock pressing against him this time, swollen with need, and seeking friction just as desperately as Jaskier seeks in return, and he doesn’t know who gasps louder when their members finally press together under the warmth of the blankets.

“You _remember_ me,” Jaskier gasps against Geralt’s lips, “but you’re still _kissing_ me.”

Geralt groans in a way that sounds suspiciously like “shut up, bard” and then they’re kissing again and writhing together in a way that definitely isn’t innocent and Jaskier replays everything that he’s done and said in the last fortnight and realises that Geralt really ought to be pissed at him or at least a little embarrassed by all the cuddling.

The kiss breaks for a moment while Geralt focuses on freeing their cocks and Jaskier takes the opportunity to clarify, “You’re not mad at me?”

Geralt growls and captures his lips again as their cocks finally move together, free of restrictions. “Don’t you ever shut up?” he mutters, biting at Jaskier’s lips in a way that makes him groan _very_ loudly indeed.

“Geralt,” he whines, and gets lost in the carnal sensation of their conjoined bodies for a moment until he remembers Soft Geralt’s cautious hands and gentle smile as he slid into bed that first time. He steadies Geralt with a hand on his chest and Geralt – good Geralt, sweet Geralt, even with the weight of memory on his shoulders – ceases his movements. “Please, I need to know. I’m afraid I…” he swallows his unease and tries again, “I wasn’t trying to trick you, Geralt, I promise, but you made an assumption and I couldn’t… well, I _hoped_ that you had made that assumption for a reason.”

Geralt sighs and brushes his lips over Jaskier’s – soft, and shy, and emotive, like he would have done before the weight of the past came back around him. There is still this sweet and soft Geralt inside him, Jaskier knows, though he may rarely feel safe enough to let him surface.

“I had wanted…” Geralt confesses, “but I did not think that I deserved to _take_. You were so young when you first kissed me. The last time that I…” he eyes close, cloaked in grief, and Jaskier knows that he thinks of Renfri – of the girl he loved, immediately and wholeheartedly, and ended up on his sword. “The last time I indulged,” Geralt says, “I had sworn that it would be the last time.”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier sighs, cupping that sweet, sad, face between his hands. “You deserve companionship. Everyone does. Including grumpy old Witchers like you. _Especially_ grumpy old Witchers like you.”

Geralt snorts, but Jaskier won’t let himself get distracted, pulling him in for a sweet kiss.

“I am glad that you were relieved of your burden long enough to realise that I am here, and that I love you, and that you deserve to have someone by your side.”

Geralt groans, burying his face in Jaskier’s shoulder, and Jaskier chortles, recognising his shy behaviour for what it is. “Alright, grumpypuss, that’s all the emotions you are required to process tonight. Continue ravishing me, if you please. I believe we have some lost time to make up for.”

Geralt grunts in agreement and then he’s kissing Jaskier – not as hungrily as before, but with a depth of passion that makes Jaskier’s toes curl in anticipation – before Geralt throws the covers aside to pleasure Jaskier in a much more intimate way.

When they are both satisfied, Geralt presses his nose into Jaskier’s shoulder, inhaling just as deeply as he had that first night in Velen. “You were my anchor,” he murmurs as he drifts off to sleep. “This last month… I didn’t know anything, but I knew you.”

Jaskier smiles and presses a kiss atop his forehead, recognising for the first time, the love inherent in the word ‘familiar’.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can find me on [tumblr](http://vands38.tumblr.com/). I've also written a lot of other [Witcher fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=29890172&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=vands38).


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